


Mephistopheles the Magnificent versus the Maliciously Mysterious Morrigan

by Lt_Itzalova



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cock Transformation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 10:26:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18163997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lt_Itzalova/pseuds/Lt_Itzalova
Summary: An insolent young mage comes to challenge another practitioner only to find themselves in a  battle of more than wits.





	Mephistopheles the Magnificent versus the Maliciously Mysterious Morrigan

**Author's Note:**

> My first publishing attempt, apologies for a lack of organization or formatting.

His legs ached from walking, it must have been hours now, so long so that the splish-splash of his own rhythmic footfalls into the short layer of water covering the floor was wearing on his mind. Mephistophiles, fresh out of the university for the dark arts was in a world of darkness himself now. Literally. Having come to the new abode of a rival magician unannounced he’d found himself wandering endless halls, solving esoteric puzzles and now? Dropped into an infinite void. He’d pressed on as long as he could, at his wit’s ends, the blue-haired boy stomping the ground and balling his fists, shouting out at the sky, or lack thereof.

“Mor-Rioghain! I’ve come to challenge you! Stop this cowardice and show yourself lest I use force!” an empty threat from a desperate and exhausted individual, but one still answered as a haughty, familiar tone made him whip his head around. “It’s just ‘Morrigan’, dear. And you should have said something, I’ve been right here all along.” and, just as promised, only a few feet to the magician’s right was the adversary he’d searched for, sitting comfortably at a small table. Mephistophiles rolled his shoulders and approached, putting on his most stoic face.

Morrigan was an old classmate of the young mage’s, the same age and gender as him, though a glance wouldn’t tell as much. The witch had an elegant aura he’d crafted into a distinctly feminine visage as time went on. “Have a seat, dear.” he said, waving a finger. Mephistophiles reached out behind him, grabbing the chair rapidly sliding at him from out of the void, seating himself while scowling at Morrigan.

That said, he had to pause to take in his former colleague: perhaps it was the effect of the candle light they sat around or how he sat surrounded by trinkets and apparatuses supernatural the likes of which made the young mage a little envious but Morrigan’s presence seemed greater than he’d ever remembered it. The jewelry all along his body caught the light and his attention to the witch’s body. His rings, bangles, necklace, earrings, headdress, it was like being guided on a tour of Morrigan’s body, from his cascade of silver hair to his low cut dress that swelled just barely over the tender bumps of his chest. Mephistopheles could see the outlines of a predatory smile through the veil covering the lower half of Morrigan’s face as he leaned in, chin in palm.

“So, seeing as you broke in, I’m afraid I’m not aware of just what you’re here for, Mickey, dear. If it’s another attempt at a date it’ll need to wait, I’m afraid, I’m very busy with my new job.” Morrigan’s calm, flirtatious demeanor was immediately contrasted by Mephistopheles slamming his palms on the table. “H-hey, no first names! And that all was a phase, s-since I thought you were a girl, got it?!” the mage’s face went a shade of red that contrasted his blue hair nicely, though the outburst hardly phased Morrigan, simply making their gazes meet. “And here I thought we’d had something special, too. What a shame.” he giggled.

For a few seconds the two sat silently, a stare-down between forces in contrast: a mage with soft features and a lower body that’d make him distinctly female if he didn’t embrace dandyism with every effort to avoid it, a witch who’d molded their image for years into their ideal figure of feminine beauty. A straightforward font of rage and a quietly contemplating enigma locked in a complex battle of wit and social poise. Or it would be, if Mephistopheles didn’t interrupt.

“So, your new job...” he started, teeth grit “It’s lovely, I could never have hoped to have gotten a job so soon out of university. I thought I’d be busking for years and doing birthday parties for kids before landing something like this.” Mephistophiles jerked his head to the side, as if he’d been struck, though Morrigan’s words hurt more than a slap to the face. The witch was operating as a member of a royal court and advisor to a noble, a nearly extinct practice in the 21st century and the holy grail of careers for any magical practitioner while Mephistopheles struggled to live out of a shoebox apartment doing magic tricks and dressing as a clown for drooling children. Oh, how he hated children, how he hated clowns!

“That’s just the thing, it doesn’t add up!” Morrigan cocked his head at this, brow raising but let Mephistopheles continue. “Nobody finds work as a magician proper these days, not in the surface of society. How many people even believe in us anymore? Yet here you are, set for life divining for some eccentric kid duke?” Morrigan broke his line of sight, investigating his carefully maintained nails. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re getting at, Mickey, dear.” this only drove Mephistopheles to further agitation.

In fact, the way Morrigan seemed so blase and unaffected was absolutely burning him up! He stood and leaned over the table, trying to aggrandize his quite tiny stature. “What did you do to them!? You’re up to something, I’m certain of it!” again, for all he could do, Morrigan just laughed. “You know it’s very strictly against our code to do something like put a hex on someone to make them give us a job. I’d be in a duel with enforcers right now rather than speaking with you had I done that.” Mephistopheles balled up his hands, his nails digging into his palms and knuckles going white. “T-then you must have done something else! You...you uh, well…” he gestured to the witch’s body.

“Excuse me?” Morrigan frowned, shifting to sit upright. “So that is it then? I knew it had to be something, the way you tried to seduce me when we were young-” “You asked me out, Mick. Don’t act like the teachers sitting us next to each other because we chose titles near each other when alphabetically ordered meant I did anything.” Mephistopheles cocked a smile, finally feeling an upper hand. “You always went around, dressing like you do, acting like a man shouldn’t, it was all an act to try and get the upper hand only girls normally could, wasn’t it?” the high of finally feeling a small victory was so great Mephistopheles wasn’t scared at all of Morrigan staring daggers at him.

“Very well, so I take it you think you’re a better magician and more suited for my job, yes?” Morrigan collected himself with a sigh, face now but a blank stare. Mephistopheles nodded. “Very well, then as per rules and tradition I accept your challenge. You may choose the stakes and I the challenge, following customs.” Mephistopheles couldn’t contain his wide, menacing grin. “Customs say I can demand we bet our careers, as well, you know.” He knew that in this case Morrigan had a steady life in a castle telling fortunes and relaxing to lose while if he lost he’d do little more than hand off some business cards and show a few busy boardwalks where the tips were good.  
“Very well, my life as a court wizard against your...whatever you’re up to these days, the likes of which I am just ever so sure is as good, if not better.” Morrigan slowly extended his hand, giving Mephistopheles time to recognize the witch’s blue and gold nails. He whipped his arm around and squeezed hard, shaking hands. “Excellent, so, typical duel, yes? I didn’t want to have to hurt someone who even looks like a lady bu-” Mephistopheles used his free hand to begin rummaging through his pockets. “Skinship Ritual.” he glanced up as he was interrupted, Morrigan answering his look of confusion. “I can choose the competition and I choose the Skinship Ritual.” Mephistopheles wanted to refuse, having no idea what this all was about but both looked down to their entwined hands, knowing the deal was set.

Typically these supernatural rituals were down to things like fights or races or simple competitions. In fact, Mephistopheles never bothered learning more than the rules for duels, so common were they. He had never heard the term “Skinship Ritual” but had a sense of dread building as they prepared for it. Magical practitioners could share supernatural energies through direct physical contact, though this was usually reserved for specific rituals involving siphoning strength into a single caster it also led to an obscure rite where two individuals would make as much body contact as possible and try to draw all of the mana out of the other to win. Or so said Morrigan, anyway.

“Direct contact”, both knew what that meant and despite reservations on part of the young mage, he knew there was no backing out. Especially as he was still trapped in this magical void, it's only feature now the large stone platform the two stood on to give them dry ground for which to set candles and draw a spell circle. Mephistopheles whipped off his clothes, tossing them aside with no care other than being sure it didn’t ruin the spell circle he was walking into. He stretched and cracked his knuckles as if the sight of him doing so could hope to intimidate anyone with such a show. Morgan, meanwhile, removed his heels and dress and folded them carefully before setting them aside.

The two slowly approached in the center of the ring, just barely able to see one another with the dim candle light provided. Stopping a half foot away from one another Mephistopheles sized up the boy. Perhaps “size” was the key word here: despite their differences, under their clothes the two were quite similar. Mephistopheles did everything he could to try and hide and diminish his distinctly girlish features while Morrigan spent years of work employing all but metamorphic magics to reach his feminine-yet-male appearance. Their full lips, the slight swell of fat and tissue propped up under small pectoral muscles, the way their svelte waists tapered into broader, fertile hips, if it weren’t for the average height Morrigan being five inches higher than the other boy the two could almost be doppelgangers.

Their height and one other feature, of course: Mephistopheles wasn’t just a little below average in terms of height, the cold, exhaustion and unease stirring in him made sure that the space between his legs was nothing worth scoffing at while Morrigan’s broad stance showed off every inch of his pendulous cock. Even standing upright the thing looked like it would have to reach down half of the way to his knees, fully flaccid. Mephistopheles pried his mind from the thought, not about to get intimidated or distracted, especially not by something so inappropriate as thinking of another guy’s cock!

In fact, Morrigan seemed to be waiting, staring him down with a dull gaze and leaning in to his space. While he had no idea the rules of the Skinship Ritual he was too proud to admit it. Instead he lunged forward, both hands out. He was quickly caught by Morrigan, the two intertwining their fingers. They two both gently pushed forward, not enough to move one another but to keep together closely. They stood there, perfectly still for a few minutes before Mephistopheles finally spoke “So, how do we know it’s working?” Morrigan’s lips curled into a grin, looking down at the smaller boy. “You’ll feel that mental jolt like you’d cast a taxing spell. This, though, is really not nearly enough closeness to make it work.”

Mephistopheles looked away and scowled. He knew what this meant exactly, why else would they have stripped down to nothing? But he still didn’t like the idea. Slowly he bent forward, their palms touching, then their forearms slowly coming. He took a deep breath and their chests slid smoothly up against one another. Still, he cocked his lower body back and out of the way, knowing it would cause their bare loins to touch. The silence came like before but the seconds seemed to pass more slowly. He could feel Morrigan, every slight clench and release of his muscle, their breathing, without any prompting sinking into an inverse rhythm as their chests puffed out and in against one another.

Eventually Morrigan realized the mage’s look of irritation, his own face one of increasing satisfaction. “I’m trying my absolute hardest. Why don’t you try your hardest to draw out my mana? Otherwise, well, we’re not actually making full conta-” “I know, I know, just be quiet so I can focus!” the blushing boy shot back. He did his best but with no idea of what he was actually meant to do that meant little. His body tensed up and Morrigan responded, readjusting the grip they had on one another’s hands to further lock them in. 

With a defeated sigh the little wizard gave up, before he could suggest anything Morrigan approached, putting his feet around those of his smaller counterpart’s, making sure their legs touched together up to the knees and bending his legs to make them more level. Mephistopheles felt his whole body heating up, the indignation of being in a formal duel where someone had to bend down to get on his level, the fact that Morrigan could tangibly feel every symptom of his waning courage and…

His eyes shot open, his own member cradled by the larger boy’s. It was one thing to see the size but to feel himself being enveloped, shaft-to-shaft contact made? It made him freeze up. “Awww, you’re getting all tense. You’re not quitting now, are you, Micky?” Morrigan’s coquettish taunt pulled him back to alertness. “Don’t count on it, witch, I was just meditating to finish this off!” He shot back, squirming even as he gave a defiant stare to the other boy who’s face was centimeters from his own.

He was in a sensory hell, the smell of his own skin and Morrigan’s aroma of white flowers cloying into something that assailed his brain with it’s dense sweetness. The feeling of every bead of sweat traveling from his body and where it stopped upon meeting the witch’s, the fact that he could feel not only Morrigan’s heartbeat but the slight clenches and bulges made by veins nearest the skin in reaction to each pump of blood. The smallest imbalance in his breathing and how it interrupted the otherwise steady, even pace they had settled into together. He wanted to squirm, to writhe, his lower body reacting against his accord but he knew that the smallest tense on his part would be something Morrigan noticed and would no doubt see as weakness.

“Still nothing, hmm?” Morrigan interjected before he could think of an excuse for getting hard now of all times. Mephistopheles had calmed down, “mind over matter” being the only battle plan left to try and steady himself and keep from doing something embarrassing. Instead of spitting back insults he just slowly nodded. “Well, not to be rude but you don’t have very much surface area. But then, there’s one part of us that’s not doing as much as they could be.” Morrigan spoke softly, almost as if to a child. His right hand released the mage’s, sliding his palm against Mephistopheles’ arm, gliding over the underside and feeling his muscles tighten up as Morrigan continued traveling down the path of lily-white flesh. 

Even with one hand now busy moving along the boy’s body Morrigan could feel the sudden spike in heart rate, a warm smile on his face as slowly he made his way downwards, Mephistopheles out of options but to remain still and let it happen. Still, within his mind he desperately tried to avoid it, to think of some alternative rationalization like anything but what was clearly now happening was about to take place, the feeling of soft, delicate, manicured fingers stroking over his belly enough to make him whimper as the moments dragged on. He begged gods and demons and fate and logic and anything in between to give him something to believe in than the inevitable but all that was tugged away from him as two fingers carefully grasped around his already-pulsing shaft.

“I see you had the same idea and were trying to firm up for me, thoughtful as ever, like a virgin boy bringing me my favorite jasmine flowers despite never having spoken to me proper.” A sensation of despair and shock hit Mephistopheles where he was most vulnerable, all while the witch handled the part of his body that was the most vulnerable, chest bouncing and rubbing against the mage’s with a tittering giggle as he found his comment to have scared his cock to fuller attention, the thing standing up with only a little more effort. “Young and lively as I’d expect from your bloodline, just like you bragged about, Micky.”

At this point Mephistopheles had made his struggle less of one to defeat this witch and take his job and more of just staying standing without collapsing limp nor running off with his pride shattered. He wanted to say something in response to his own lineage, his prideful blood being teased, the sight of Morrigan working himself to full mast and maybe the fact that he’d just gotten his first handjob but he could form no words. His eyes were stuck open, taking in the prison he’d let himself walk into and the face of the terrible monster with the key, and their generous endowment.  
Mephistopheles almost jumped back in shock as he felt Morrigan’s fully engorged shaft slap against his belly, their cocks pressed up against one another and made one more “limb” through which to feel one another’s every bodily shift. “There, you can feel the link between us even better now, right?” Morrigan hummed gently, his hands now both going to the boy’s shoulders. “Is it working?” was all he could manage, his hands shaking now that they were free. “Heat usually speeds it up, so…” Morrigan slid his hands down to the mage’s back, resting his chin on his shoulder, their bodies locked together once again in a tight hug.

Now in even a literal sense he was trapped and unable to run, however, the moment he made one errant twitch Morrigan began working his hips in a slow circle, their loins sliding against one another, cocks rubbing their throbbing, exposed space against one another. He hated to admit it but the feeling of warmth that spread out from between their legs began to intensify a feeling of unity. It was becoming hard for him to feel the space between their cocks, just a sweaty, sticky amassment made of their forms.

Slowly his own hands inched forward, suddenly grabbing the witch by his hips, feeling the slight bulge and tense of the muscles in them and his rear as they were used to rub their lower bodies into more and more of a greasy, steamy mess.With their bodies now fully pressed together he began to lose feeling of himself, eyes closing as a low, satiated groan came up his throat without meaning to. His toes curled as he began slowly reciprocating, working up and down as they worked their shafts along each other’s bodies. He felt jolts running up and down his spine but as his cock throbbed he couldn’t even pause to think if that meant he was winning or not.

Morrigan gently hummed, making vibrations that seemed to pass through Mephistopheles’ entire body, causing him to shiver and drool a little, his eyes rolling back. Surely he’d cum a few times by now but he could hardly tell at this point, this feeling of physical closeness was all he could focus on. His body felt so right up against Morrigan, it was all becoming so clear why this bizarre ritual had gone on to survive as long as it had! He couldn’t care nor tell how he was performing in the competition but wanted to be as close as he could be! To be with Morrigan, to tell him how he really did have a crush on him and didn’t mean those mean things! He couldn’t pull away if he tried!

Unfortunately, he tried.

Mephistopheles froze up, trying once again but not budging. Had Morrigan shifted his legs to put him into some kind of leg-lock? He pulled away, his hands on the witch’s shoulders as the latter continued working his hips in circles...and the mage’s. Mephistopheles screamed, their bodies locked together at the waist, his own some gooey white consistency where it met Morrigan’s skin, only firming up and merging on a physical level more and more! He pulled away but could only let his arms hang free and his body lean back. He was practically hanging off of Morrigan’s crotch now and he dread to imagine what was happening to his lower body as his attempts to move it seemed more and more the product of a phantom limb syndrome.

“W-what is this!?” Mephistopheles cried out as he was bounced against Morrigan’s body, the witch holding him up while continuing to work his hips. “Oh riiiight, you were asleep in classes during out entire lesson block on fusion. Not used much these days since it’s disgraced as a cheap trick to make weak magicians stronger, but, well, with a little creativity and know-how?” He grinned wide as a gust of wind audibly rolled in and snuffed the candles surrounding them, the witch’s laughter echoing through the void. “Well, I can make something a little more one-sided, as you can see!”

Mephistopheles felt it now, the mental strain and exhaustion like he’d just cast a huge explosion or lifted a house with his magic. With what little he had he created an orb of light in his hand, the small thing just barely illuminating their bodies in full, flickering. The sweating witch continued grinning at him, head tipped downwards. The mage gazed downwards slowly, swallowing hard as he saw his body fused entirely against Morrigan’s crotch, veins pulsing along his body as the other features seemed to give way and lower down… he gasped, his focus broken and the light going out at a glance of having realized his lower body was entirely gone! 

He tried casting again, a pathetic dull mote of light sparking into the air with the remnants of his magical power. “Y-you’re sick, Mor-Rioghain! I should never have come here, a-and they’ll come for you, now!” he pointed with his free hand but even his arm felt weak now, letting it slap weakly to rest against his toro as he clung to mental consciousness. “Ah ah ah~ Sure, usually this is forbidden to do to anyone, most of all a fellow practitioner but, well, rules of the duel, yes?” 

Mephistopheles tried to raise his other hand but felt it fused to his side. He opened his mouth but nothing came out, the light in his hand sputtered out with the grimace of his adversary painted into his mind. With no further resistance to fight off his fusion ritual Morrigan was free to finish: his stance broadening to better hold the weight between his legs and provide leverage. Mephistopheles had fused over his penis, so a new penis he would have to become, it only made sense! The witch couldn’t help but cackle at the scenario he’d made, working the base of his shaft, feeling it bulge up with what was now a urethra, the top of the pale mass atop his new shaft pulling back, a new foreskin covering where the mage’s head once was.

Morrigan paused, snapping his fingers to ignite the surrounding candles, the brilliant supernatural light far brighter than normal and letting him properly investigate his handiwork: any sign of Mephistopheles was no more, save for the face that Morrigan’s cock was a stark white contrasting with his natural skin color. As the result of an entire human’s body mass and the extra of their magical energies it’d grown into a colossus the likes of which rivaled Morrigan’s entire body in scale. Were it not for his spells already in place to support such a beast of an organ it would surely have taken the witch’s balance if not more.

“Oh, you’re so much cuter like this, Micky!” he laughed, both hands on either side, sensitive flesh, his flesh, and that of the poor virgin boy full of sexual tension and anger. It was time they both had a little release. The broad mass, though throbbing erect was held down under its own girthy weight, making it easy for him to gracelessly hunch forward and begin pumping himself with both hands.

Already the appendage was coated in a fine layer of sweat, now adding skin oil to the mix for a natural, musky lubricant that Morrigan huffed deeply in a quest for satiation. His face reddened from the excitement and exertion that came with feeling whole feet of new skin and meat under his fingertips, responding to the usually silky-delicate touch he’d practiced, now using his cocked-back hips to hump into his waiting palms like an animal. The feeling of his melon-sized balls responding and swinging enough to put a wide, dumb grin on Morrigan’s face that normally he’d never be caught dead with.

His grip tightened as he felt warm fluids running over his fingertips: a stream of precum beginning to leak up in preparation. He panted, hunching over and biting into his lip as he clenched up, working his dick with all the force his delicate little body could put into it, breathing hard ragged breaths as thoughts of Mephistopheles faded. No, this was his reward, this was all about him, his sensations, his pleasure, and right now that was the flood of endorphins hitting his brains, an electric jolt seizing up his body in place as he tossed his head back, shrieking as his new cock erupted with enough force to fire off ropes of fresh jizz yards ahead of him, the stuff so thick he could intimately feel it stroking his urethral walls as it blasted out, audibly splashing as it fell. Cumming always felt best when it was with someone else!

Morrigan braced himself, hands on his knees stuck in a squat as he panted to regain his energy and enjoy the feelings of afterglow. He looked up, grinning as his ability to see just how far his cumshot traveled was blocked by his still throbbing shaft. He reached a hand out and stroked it tenderly, beginning to right himself and walk over to his clothes. “Well now, I was planning on only keeping you for a few hours but it looks like your bloodline is just as full of energy down there, aren’t you? Maybe we’ll need to become better acquainted, introduce you to my bosses, they’re pretty cute, mostly. Or they will be once I’m done, sweetie.” 

Redressing, everything seemed to fit as normal, save the obvious spire of cockflesh raising his purple dress in front of him. He repurposed his necklace as a cockring, helping make sure he was properly decorated all over. “We’ll get you something a little more elegant later, dear, for now, enjoy this mercy.” he extended a finger out to his side, a bead of light appearing and following as he traced a rectangle in the air, the light drawing an outline of a doorway that filled to reveal the exit to the darkness. “I’m about to give you the most lovely tour of my workplace and everyone who works there.” he stroked “himself” and gazed at the white shaft with a sinister, predatory grin.


End file.
